Who's to blame for a young boy who thinks violence is fun
He chose to drop out and play with guns
And when he see the police he duck off then run
Daddy left him for a quick fix and a few bucks
People tell him he's just a bad kid with no luck
His home boys call him a coward with no guts
If he chooses not to do drivebys or stick ups
they tease him and call him the boy with no nuts
Pressured to be impressive
So he follows the wrong crowd.
But at least they tell him that
he's made them proud
Nobody never cared
So hung around with the thugs, and even though they sold drugs
They showed a young brother how it feels to be loved
They didn't judge a brother by look or books
But gave a young brother a chance
A few grams and grands in his hands
The streets gave him hope
Even though he sold dope
It felt good to have money still rolled up
He remembered those parent conferences where his parents never showed up
So who's to blame?
For a young brother who's lost in the game
Proud of his shame
Forgotten his name
Introduced to money,
drugs and gangs
Now that's the life of a young *****
Who parents never showed him how does it feel to be loved
So don't sit around and say those cops want my baby dead when you was the one that killed him
Could have said
a prayer for him to heal him
Should've gave him a hug but now he's dead he and you can't feel him.
So Who's the blame ?

My skin is black.
Probably blacker than
The hole in my soul.
My hair is natural,
And resistant.
Like young black men
Being arrested by white cops.
My favorite color is black,
Probably because no one hardly
ever likes it.
My skin is black,
And I can't change that.

I'm just a girl who refuses to be forgotten.
I refuse to allow y'all to edit my story.
I must speak my truth,
And I must write my story.
Because being forgotten,
Is an untold story I refuse to allow happen.

Blue Eyes
Blue eyes look at me,
My dark skin is defined by the dirt and sweat of the cotton fields,
My skin has been beaten,bruised and burned
The darker I am the more I'm tortured,
The blue eyes are evil,
The blue eyes has seen darker skin,
The eyes has seen dark brown skin women and men,
The blue eyes,
They see where the rage and pain lies within me
They look down at me,
As if I were beneath them,
They see the 300 years of slave and fear captured in my eyes,
I an'it afraid , so don't try me
I hate you and your color,
What you all did to my people,
You ought'a be ashamed
Or maybe I should be

My city is cold,
The people are cold.
The weather is cold too.
But, when the seasons change,
The city will no longer remain cold,
But, the people will.

I am the flower that everyone
picked over.
 No, I am the flower that you stepped on.
I am like the flower blowing in the early hour, Quicken
To be blown away by the pearly showers.
I am the one who sits alone.
Hoping for someone to join.
I am a flower with broken petals
Unsettled and fragile like a broken vessel
Or like a flower
Nestled beneath a trestle.

A young rebel
Wild and free.
Untamed and unashamed
I wish this was me.